R.I.P Sean Price

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mson

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Why We’ll Miss Sean Price, the Brownsville Bar-Barian
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By Peter Rubin


13 hours ago

  • Let's talk about epigrams for a second. Not punchlines, not general wordplay, but saying some shyt in less than a bar that sums up everything you stand for.

    "I love to rap, but I hate the game."

    That's Sean Price. Ruck. Megatron Sean. P-Body. Mic Tyson. Kimbo Price. Brownsville's finest. In 40 years of hip-hop, no one's ever distilled themselves better than that. It's a mission statement expressed in half a bar. Nine words. And when we lost Sean Price last night, at a mere 43 years of age, we lost one of rap's only polestars.

    In the mid-'90s, when he first popped up as half of the duo Heltah Skeltah, Ruck was already a curmudgeon at 23, wearing nothing flashier than jeans, Timbs, and a disdain for other rappers. His poker-faced grumpiness gave essential counterweight to Rock's dungeon-dragon histrionics, and made him the working-class hero of the already no-frills Boot Camp Clik (Black Moon, Smif-n-Wessun, and the best-named-ever Originoo Gunn Clappaz).

    Over 20 years (20 years), the young turk turned into a fixture. He released an astonishing amount of material—with Heltah Skeltah, with BCC, as a solo act, as part of Random Axe, and in countless loosies with other artists—and all of it was best defined by what it wasn't: gimmicky. He never wrote a verse starting every line with a different letter of the alphabet, he never rapped from the point of view of turkey bacon, and he never did that self-satisfied allegorical shyt where you thought he was talking about clothes when in reality he was ISSUING A SCATHING CRITIQUE OF CAPITALISM.

    What Sean Price did was write bars. Thousands and thousands of them, each an exercise in menacing literality. But his ice grill was deadpan; every threat was tinged with a laugh, and you could always hear the smile lurking behind the serious.

    "I'm in the hotel with ganja/Dope needle, Don Cheadle, Hotel Rwanda..."

    "I carry a gun, paw/Barbarian, Thundarr/Switchblade bytchmade nikkas like 'en garde'..."

    "Take it back to D-Cept, back out the hammer fam/I ain't talkin' hammer 'blam,' fam, I'm talkin' hammer, damn..."

    Adjectives and prepositions just got in his way, so he left them behind for other lesser rappers to pick up.

    Hip-hop changed around him, as it did around anyone with the talent or sheer willpower to stay relevant. P didn't get caught up, though. The jeans stayed baggy, the Polo stayed on, and he stayed in Brownsville. He embraced his image as an unappreciated journeyman—"the brokest rapper you know" was his preferred phrase—and Brooklyn (and the Internet) in turn embraced him.

    The record industry wasn't quite so welcoming. (What, you're gonna coax a guy who rhymes "Malachi York" and "Ballantine quart" into trimming his beard and becoming the next Flo Rida?) Price felt that, chafed at it, but processed his frustration into disdain just like he always did.

    And yeah, he evolved, but not in that Electric Circus way. He got married. He had kids. But he kept rapping, and kept talking shyt about Dru Ha, and kept making you laugh with how he would say whatever the fukk popped into his head. ("I don't parlay with a crew, nikka/I don't Wale with them new nikkas.")

    Sean Price was an old head. He liked it that way. And those of us who grew up alongside him liked it that way too.

    The idea of "grown-man rap" is a weird one. We embrace 22-year-olds for showing some world-weariness and acting like they have some perspective, but the moment someone manages to amass some actual wisdom, we turn it into a pejorative. So make no mistake: Sean Price was an old head. He liked it that way. And those of us who grew up alongside him liked it that way too.

    That doesn't mean we can't appreciate the singular genius of Kendrick or Chance, or that we don't fukk with Kevin Gates or Vince Staples or any one of the dozens of artists who remind us every day that hip-hop is in a great place. It just means that Brooklyn has always depended on rappers who stay rooted to the concrete, 10 toes down, and no one did that better than Sean Price.

Why We’ll Miss Sean Price, the Brownsville Bar-Barian
 
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Super Future Luther King Jr.

Super Future Luther King Jr.

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mson said:
  • Sean Price was an old head. He liked it that way. And those of us who grew up alongside him liked it that way too.

    The idea of "grown-man rap" is a weird one. We embrace 22-year-olds for showing some world-weariness and acting like they have some perspective, but the moment someone manages to amass some actual wisdom, we turn it into a pejorative. So make no mistake: Sean Price was an old head. He liked it that way. And those of us who grew up alongside him liked it that way too.

    That doesn't mean we can't appreciate the singular genius of Kendrick or Chance, or that we don't fukk with Kevin Gates or Vince Staples or any one of the dozens of artists who remind us every day that hip-hop is in a great place. It just means that Brooklyn has always depended on rappers who stay rooted to the concrete, 10 toes down, and no one did that better than Sean Price.
Why We’ll Miss Sean Price, the Brownsville Bar-Barian
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This excerpt was perfect breh
 
Danie84

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'95, I was 11 when my Big Brother had to leave BK, and start-up a new life OT. BCC were more than Hometown Heroes to me, they filled the void he left:to: '97, I meet Shucky (cuz of a
T-shirt order snafu), and the rest as they say is history. From 98 - 08 (highschool thru college)

was easily The Greatest Time in my life. All The Shows, Camaraderie, and Behind-the-scene-PIFF.

Lowkey, 31 years on this planet, my only true claim-to-fame, is being credited inside Jesus Price Superstar booklet!!! Thank you Ruck:rip: The Brokest Rapper U Know:laff: was that Family
Man, Brother, Friend, Brownsville Representative, Unsung Hip-Hop MC Extraordinaire, who
was Too Good to be True. Still can't believe it, but God Speed Mic Tyson:wow:

Of course my GOAT Ruck song is aptly titled:



I'm not sure anymore more Who is knocking at my door door:ohlawd:

...Sean Sparks like John Starks in the fourth quarter:salute:

That's my Childhood:mjcry:
 
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HamAndEgger

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Still surreal to me. Dude was 20 years in the game, we forget about that sometimes and when you think of the Top rappers in the 90s who aren't relevant anymore, P could still tour and sell out crowds. His last show he did in Miami was fukkin packed! Got to me him really quick and dude in general was just FUNNY. Im surprised he wasn't looking beyond Music but overall, BARS for days and had NO filter at all. We lost a real one brehs :mjcry:

One of the hardest openings to a record ever!!! :damn:

 
33DegreesCantMakeUsFreeze

33DegreesCantMakeUsFreeze

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On fake grounds never spare clowns
Ruck and Rock be the rooks hold the square down
Are you prepared now I tear down, any opponent who simulate
Styles buckwild meanwhile your ass I obliterate
Demonstrate, tactics you need practice
First of all your monkey-ass rhyme like you're backwards
I should smash kids, when they try to get beyond
Limits, timid, but they could never get with Sean (say word)
Dat's word, Sean don't give a
What about yall nikkas or snakes that slither
And if ya, wanna come test the inflixter
I got your name number address plus your picture

:salute:rip to a true wordsmith
 
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